ONE HUNDRED LAMENTS

Trading the sweetness, a rainbow 
on icefalls, you will come back on rocks 
and drink the elixir of death. 
A fantastic dream of soap bubbles in a tumbler, 
ejecting the inky grief on the transparent glass. 
The pink goddess of wealth 
will descend again in your bowls. Brassica 
will decide the future of grass. 

The moon ride has become cheaper in cans 
like sardines, unethical but sleeping with god. 
Thongs were visible on steps of bathing ghats 
for the benefit of bullfighters. Gibbons 
indulging in aerial bombing. Comfortable 
in groves jacarandas were smiling. 

Unlike you I smelt the dried flowers 
between the pages of history 
to meet the shadows on the walls of time.

Satish Verma